From my Kindle novel Sweet Release . . .
CHAPTER ONE
Claudia Madelyn Rutheford hated her name. Not even as a child did she once remember liking her name—especially when the other kids teased her by calling her a “clod” which she never thought was even remotely clever or funny in spite of their hysterics. By the time she was old enough to imagine such things, she wished her mother had been more adventurous and named her “Madison” or “Collette” or “Jenna”—anything but the names of her great grandmother and grandmother respectively. Nothing against them—she just happened to hate being named after them. So, by the time she was in high school, she went by C.M., and no one (other than her mother) had better call her anything else because she would respectfully but commandingly correct them. And by the time she was in college, she dropped the periods and went only by CM.
Matthew Preston, his 6 ft. frame slumped over his laptop set up on the glass coffee table in the living room of his expensive two bedroom apartment, inquired as he typed furiously, “So, did you like it or not, CM?”
“Geez, Matt, I don’t know. What’s that about anyway? Normally I would’ve really liked it,” she answered with irritation in her voice at her own indecisiveness. She stood, squeezing the aromatic spicy flavored tea from the bag into her mug. “Did you get any honey?” she asked, looking in the cupboard.
“Forgot,” he answered as he continued to work. “Sugar’s there, though.”
“Matt—you know I’d rather have honey, darn it,” she said with muted ire as she grabbed the box of sugar and inadvertently slammed the cupboard shut. “I didn’t mean to,” she offered looking back at him before he could react further than the uplifted eyebrows she received.
“What’s buggin’ you anyway? It’s just another movie, right?” he asked, closing his laptop and stretching his muscular arms over his head while pulling his long legs out from under the coffee table so he could climb up onto the couch.
“You know it’s my job,” she said with a hint of disgust at his apparent lack of understanding. She sat down at the dining table and stared into her mug, stirring abstractedly.
Matt stood and walked over to the table. “Hey, I know you take your work very seriously—and rightfully so—but c’mon—you can’t possibly expect to give your positive approval or your succinct rejection to every movie you see, can you?”
She noted his sincere logic as well as his genuine concern, and she wondered why in the world she didn’t love him madly and passionately—like in the movies, she thought in the brief span of a moment. He was gorgeous. And built. His above the collar length bleached blonde hair with its medium brown roots only accentuated his deep blue eyes and the natural color of his skin that always looked tan. He was a bona fide head turner.
“Well, can you?” He sat after his quiet question, reaching over to place his hand over her free hand resting on the table.
“No. No, I suppose not.” She resigned herself to the fact and mustered a smile.
He stood again and walked to the refrigerator, bending down to examine its contents. He pulled out a carton of pulpy Minute Maid orange juice and drained it, tossing it in the garbage under the sink.
“Let me take you out to dinner. We’ll go to Lupe’s.”
“You just want to get me drunk on Margaritas and take advantage of me,” she said, turning in her chair to face him.
“Yeah,” he said, grinning broadly, his charming smile lighting up his face. “I do.”
“I do appreciate your honesty, believe it or not.” She laughed at his easy admission.
“That’s one thing I’ve always liked about you, CM. You want it straight.”
“And don’t forget that either.”
“I don’t plan on it.”
CM knew she was a cheap drunk. Two Margaritas and she would be flying high. Any more than that and she’d be sicker than a dog. It was also no secret to her that alcohol made it easier for her to enjoy sleeping with Matt—her conscience succumbed easily in that fluid state of mind allowing her to participate with less guilt in today’s version of love—or whatever it was supposed to be. At times she wished she knew. There was a place in her, now buried deeply, that resented Matt for his initial seduction of her, although she couldn’t deny her own participation in it. Granted by that time she’d already squandered her virginity on her first boyfriend after literally years of doing everything else but “that”. She remembered at her weaker moments the absolute terror she’d felt wondering if she’d gotten pregnant and never feeling more relieved than when her period showed up on time. Eventually her boyfriend became too frustrated to continue without the real thing, and after four years of sharing everything they had to give, they broke up. CM was nearly 20, and Jason had been 22.
Inevitably every time she slept with Matt, at some point during their time together, these memories surfaced to haunt her. Why couldn’t she just forget? Why couldn’t she just give in to all of it—after all, she was an independent, self-sufficient 21st century woman. Matt almost begged her to move in with him, stopping just short of seeming desperate she thought. As much as she figured he was capable of loving someone, he loved her. He certainly thought he did because he never failed to tell her—especially, she never failed to notice, after enjoying her body. What was it with men anyway? Why did sex have to be involved in their ability to express “love”?
She doubted sincerely there were actually very many men who could really love a woman. Jason had adored her until they finally went “all the way”. Then that act became the focus of his life with her, and when she refused to do it anymore, it led to their split. By that time she was ready for the end. She felt used, and she regretted how their relationship had deteriorated to that point. She decided she had no idea what love was supposed to be or how it was supposed to feel because with all of her heart she’d thought she’d loved Jason. Now with Matt she didn’t even pretend to love him. She really liked him—no doubt about that. She might even love him in a way—but not the way every girl hopes to love a man, not the way you figure your knees might actually give out on you when he gives you that certain look, no—not the way the motion pictures made you feel when you viewed Hollywood’s version of true romance on the screen. Momentarily heart stopping, silent gasping, sheer knock you to your knees romance. Did it even exist in real life? She ignored the fact the first time she saw Matt that’s exactly what had happened to her, and she also chose to forget the certain look Matt could give her that caused a meltdown inside of her.
“What’re you thinkin’ about?” Matt asked, propping himself up on an elbow and gazing down at her.
Self-conscious, she discreetly pulled the sheet up higher. “Just taking inventory and making sure I’m almost ready to drive home.”
“Why do you always do that?” His quiet tone rattled her.
“Do what?” she asked with some surprise, afraid for a moment he traversed her thoughts.
“Pull the sheet up to make sure you’re covered. Don’t you think it’s a little late for that?” He said it gently and with no sarcasm. “I love your body, CM. You’re beautiful. Have I done anything to make you feel awkward around me after all this time?”
She hoped he couldn’t see her blush in the soft low light of the antique lamp on the nightstand table next to his side of the bed. She faltered momentarily.
“Why don’t you stay tonight? I know you don’t like to give me any indication you might actually want to live with me—don’t worry: message received.” He looked back for a moment at the red light on the digital clock. “It’s after midnight. I have to get up at five—you’ll have plenty of time to go home and change.”
He wasn’t pressing her, she could sense that. He was being kind, and perhaps he just wanted to spend the night with her, next to her, her thoughts random.
“You know me, Matt. I can’t. I—not tonight.” She slipped out of bed grabbing her clothes off the carpet to conceal most of her body as she always did and headed to his shower.
He lay back down in silent frustration and said nothing.
A few minutes later she emerged from the master bath with her naturally curly, shoulder length brown hair flat on the top of her head with wet ringlets hanging down beside her face.
“Good night, Matt.”
“Yeah. Drive carefully,” he replied, resignation in his voice.
She felt the usual guilt driving home. She never experienced sex without guilt. Plus she felt guilty about leaving Matt there alone. He accommodated her every need for independence, never pushed her or their relationship into going somewhere she didn’t want to go—he was a strong yet tender guy, but . . . but what? “What?!” she screamed in the confines of her car, slapping the steering wheel with her left palm.
The short drive home came to an end without any questions answered, as usual, and sometimes she felt like she absolutely hated herself for the decisions she’d made all through her life that left her in such a state of confusion. Maybe she should just end her relationship with Matt. She’d miss him for sure—he was a wonderful guy! But she couldn’t really make him happy the way she was, and so consequently he couldn’t make her happy either. Once inside the door she dropped her purse on the floor and shut the door harder than she intended. “How many times have I had this conversation?” she asked aloud. “I’m sick of it.” Without warning the tears came in a rush. “Just sick of it.”
“Hey, CM! Your boyfriend’s here,” Char whispered excitedly. “Listen, if you ever dump him, let me know, alright? Talk about drop dead gorgeous!”
“Matt’s here?” CM asked in surprise, standing in her cubicle.
Char gestured secretively with her hand concealed by her body to a spot behind her across the room.
When she looked around Char, Matt caught her eye and put up his hand in a short wave. CM smiled nervously. What’s he doing here?
“Hi, Matt. What’s up?”
“Do you have a minute? I brought you a mocha,” he said, lifting the coffee.
“Uh, sure. Thanks,” she replied. “I think the interview room is open. C’mon.”
She led the way to a small room with a round table and four maple captain’s chairs. He sat at the table and she joined him.
“Normally I wouldn’t bother you at work. I’m sorry for that, but I don’t have a lot of time.”
“That’s okay. What’s going on?” With concern, sipping the mocha, she noticed how uncharacteristically serious he was. “Is something wrong?”
“Well, no—and yes, in a way. Look, CM, I’m leaving for California. This afternoon. I got a job offer that, well, it’s an incredible offer.” He looked down briefly, then continued. “To be honest with you, my first inclination was to ask you to go with me,” he said, looking directly into her subdued blue eyes. “But I knew it wouldn’t fly with you. And because of that fact, I decided to take the transfer and head back home. The main reason I’m here, CM, is to tell you I’ve been falling in love with you, but I know you don’t feel the same. It’s been fairly difficult these past couple months to carry on the way it’s always been with us, so I figured I’d just leave you alone and maybe you can find someone who floats your boat or whatever. Or maybe you won’t have to be encumbered with a ‘relationship’ at all. Anyway, I figured I’d just head out and spend a week with my folks and then get started on my new job.”
CM hated the tears flooding her eyes. There seemed to be a plug in her throat, and she knew if she dared to pull it a dam of emotion would leave her in an ocean of weeping. So she simply nodded.
Father, thank you is never enough for all that you've given me. Thank you for inspiration, words, stories, all of it. Apart from you, I can do nothing. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.
Into the Fire 